


all i really want now is more

by starwells



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:56:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4925860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starwells/pseuds/starwells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guy wearing leopard print at Exology isn’t really Jongdae’s type, but then again, Jongdae had never thought he’d be the type to work at a strip club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all i really want now is more

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2014 round of the [EXO Rare Pair Exchange](http://rarepairexo.livejournal.com/). Shout-out to C for listening to all versions of this and also its previous incarnations. Warning: scene contains no actual lap dance.

The thing about working at Exology is that it’s supposed to be a temporary thing. Jongdae just needs a little extra to pay next semester’s tuition, and he’d sort of stumbled into it. If you consider “stumbling into working as a stripper” Baekhyun clandestinely slipping a gaudy business card into Jongdae’s hand with a greasy wink. 

“Why don’t you go in and visit Joonmyun-hyung?” Baekhyun suggests with a wide grin. “There are a couple openings for dancers at the club.”

It’s probably supposed to be a joke—Baekhyun _knows_ Jongdae’s nickname in high school had been an ironic and vaguely embarrassing “dancing machine”—but when Jongdae, determined to one-up Baekhyun, goes to visit, he somehow scores an impromptu interview with the manager, and, well. It pays really well. It also helps that Joonmyun is the definition of mild-mannered dad, and by the time Jongdae meets one of the dancers—“Kai,” the dancer says, all tall and lean and honestly gorgeous—he’s pretty much sold.

Plus, the first day Jongdae shows up to work—after a long, arduous training trial where Jongdae had learned the full extent of his hips—Baekhyun nearly brains himself on a low-hanging light from the shock. That alone makes Jongdae pretty confident taking the job was the right move.

 

  


“He’s back,” Minseok announces when he gets backstage. He and Yixing switch off with a casual high-five, and as Yixing slinks off toward the stage, Minseok snags the towel off the back of his chair. Out of all of them, Minseok gets the sweatiest on stage, a combination of the rigorous choreography and the hot stage lights, so he’s fastidious about it, constantly ducking into the room to dab at his temples and forehead. (Curiously, Minseok also gets the most money, which Jongdae highly suspects correlates with the amount of sweat slicking Minseok’s shoulders and arms.)

“Who?” Jongdae asks, turning his head slightly to look at Minseok out of the corner of his eye. The eyeliner pencil skids a little over his right eye, and Baekhyun swats at his arm. “Ow!”

“Would it kill you to sit still?” Baekhyun demands. “Why are you like this every single night?” He doesn’t wait for a response before he starts smoothing over the jagged line with his thumb (see: poking out Jongdae’s eye with his fingers).

“I just can’t wait to get out there,” Jongdae snarks, keeping one eye resolutely shut but wriggling in his seat a little to piss Baekhyun off. Baekhyun retaliates with another vicious jab to Jongdae’s eye. It’s super effective. “Who’s back, Minseok-hyung? Your guy?”

“Lu Han’s not my guy,” Minseok says defensively, before he realizes how incriminating that sounds. Jongdae seizes onto it like a drowning man seizes onto a lifeboat.

“Oh so his name’s _Lu Han_ , is it?” Jongdae says, grin like a knife slice across his face.

“Shut up,” Minseok says succinctly, even though his ears are turning red. “I meant the other guy. The one with the leopard print.”

“Really? Leopard print guy is back?” Baekhyun asks, far too interested to be good. Jongdae closes both eyes and groans.

“Stop that,” Jongdae says as Baekhyun finishes up his make-up and gives Jongdae a pat on the cheek. He opens his eyes. “I’m not interested in him.”

That’s… not categorically true. Jongdae _is_ interested in him—or, specifically, _one part_ of Jongdae is interested in him. Leopard print guy isn’t especially Jongdae’s type, too quiet, but he’s still good-looking with a nice body, even covered by the gaudy, over-the-top leopard print jacket he’d worn. Even with the dark flush, visible even in the flashing lights of the club, crawling up his neck. Maybe especially because of that. 

Leopard print guy’s chest had felt broad underneath Jongdae’s hands, and Jongdae hasn’t got a size kink or anything, but he couldn’t help but notice how very big leopard print guy’s hands were. The natural succession of thought had then been, of course, how very nice those big hands of his would cover Jongdae’s hips, gripping bruises as Jongdae fucked himself on his cock. How nice it would feel to wring a sound out of leopard print guy’s mouth, after a night of silence.

So yeah, maybe Jongdae had gone home to his apartment that night and gotten off a couple times to that idea. And maybe twice more for good measure. But that doesn’t mean anything, shut up Byun Baekhyun.

“Leopard print guy?” Jongin asks from his seat. Baekhyun’s already finished with Jongin’s make-up, and he looks breathtaking like this, his eyes ringed in black and his dark hair spiked up after a truly admirable amount of hairspray. Jongdae would not want to light a match near Jongin’s head.

“You know, the guy that personally requested our dear Chen to give him a lap dance yesterday,” Baekhyun says, patting Jongdae on the shoulder. Jongdae grabs Baekhyun’s hand and mimes taking a bite. The strange screech-scream Baekhyun makes is immensely gratifying. Baekhyun trying to wrap the hair dryer cord around Jongdae’s neck, less so.

“Stop trying to strangle the employees, Baekhyun,” Joonmyun says mildly, walking into the dressing room with his headset perched on his head. “Jongin, you’re up after Yixing, what are you doing just standing around? Get into your clothes.”

“Why am _I_ always the one that gets scolded?” Jongin mumbles petulantly, but he scuttles obediently toward the clothes racks, while Minseok disperses to grab a water bottle.

“You could find another one,” Baekhyun says, scowling at Jongdae, who grins back. Saved by the manager. “If you can teach Jongdae to dance, you can teach anyone.”

“Not on such short notice, I can’t,” Joonmyun says. “Do you know how much time I invested in this one?” He grins to take some of the bite out, and Jongdae pouts at him. 

“This is a personal attack,” he complains. “I’m talking to HR.”

“That’ll have to wait until after your shift,” Joonmyun says. “Someone’s requested you again.”

Jongdae’s heart leaps into his throat. Baekhyun beats him to asking, “Is it leopard print guy?”

Joonmyun raises a judgmental eyebrow, like he actually has a leg to stand on. Like Jongdae hadn’t accidentally walked in on him singing Ring-a-ling-a at the top of his lungs last month when Joonmyun thought everyone had gone home. “If you mean, is it the same guy from yesterday, yeah, it is. And he added a bonus in this time for double the time.” Joonmyun’s eyebrows do a thing. “A large bonus.”

“Oh my God, he’s rich.” Baekhyun sounds inordinately impressed. “Jongdae, do you know what this means?”

“I don’t have to worry about paying my rent for this month?”

“Well—yeah, but also—he’s rich! He’s paying for your services! He—well, he’s not a successful but cold businessman in need of a date, but, still! What if he’s trying to ‘Pretty Woman’ you? What if he’s your Richard Gere?”

Jongdae scoffs. “He’s definitely not my Richard Gere, and I don’t really have a choice, do I? This is my job.” 

“You could always say no,” Joonmyun says gently. “I can make up something to get you out of it, if it really makes you uncomfortable.”

Jongdae hums. He thinks about the way leopard print guy had looked when Jongdae had rolled his hips down, both hands braced on either side of his broad shoulders. He’s really not Jongdae’s type at all. Jongdae’s type runs more along the lines of Jongin, who Jongdae had had a two-second crush on before he realized Kai was just an illusion and that Jongin was a nerd who called his three puppies his children. His type isn’t handsome strangers who sit through lap dances in silence.

But maybe—maybe it could be.

“No, it’s alright,” Jongdae says. “I’ll do it.”

 

  


Jongdae spots leopard print guy before he spots Jongdae. He’s wearing leather today, which suits him far better than leopard print, and he’s got a booth all to himself. There’s a single glass of water in front of him, but nothing else. 

It’s a little funny, actually, when he spots Jongdae because leopard print guy looks like he’s half a second from standing up and waving at him childishly. Jongdae watches as he remembers where he is and visibly catches himself. The smile that he keeps is cute, though, Jongdae thinks, and a little out of place on a face with such fierce features.

“Welcome back,” Jongdae says when he gets close enough, gently pushing on leopard print guy’s shoulders to persuade him to sit back down fully. “Couldn’t get enough of me last time, huh?” 

He’s not expecting a response, based on leopard print guy’s previous experience, and Jongdae’s right. It doesn’t deter Jongdae much, and he just carefully perches on leopard print guy’s knee. Leopard print guy doesn’t look like he knows what to do with his hands, or where to start looking first; Jongdae’s only got on his favorite black briefs and a tiny little bowtie, and Jongdae knows he’s not unattractive, but it still feels like an ego boost. Leopard print guy is pretty hot, after all, even more so in leather, and Jongdae decides he likes that leopard print guy looks a little bit overwhelmed.

Filing that away for later, Jongdae leans in close. Leopard print guy’s lashes are very long, and they’re beating very frantically as he tries to keep Jongdae in his line of sight. “Do you have a name, or do I have to pull it out you?” he asks, toying with the collar of leopard print guy’s shirt, careful to keep his smile and tone friendly. A name might be easier than “leopard print guy,” Jongdae tells himself. No ulterior motive or anything, these aren’t the droids you’re looking for, move along.

“Zitao,” leopard print guy says, and Jongdae blinks. His voice is higher and softer than expected, and his breath is a puff of air against Jongdae’s cheek. “My name is Zitao.”

HIs Korean has the careful enunciation of a non-native speaker, and Jongdae finally pieces together exactly why Zitao hadn’t spoken the first time around. He leans back. “Chinese?” Jongdae asks, then repeats the question in what he hopes is understandable Mandarin.

Almost immediately, Zitao’s expression brightens, and he nods excitedly right before he launches into the fastest stream of Mandarin Jongdae’s ever heard outside of school and Zhang Liyin interviews. Jongdae catches a few words here and there—“China” and “two” and “friend” and his stage name, “Chen”—but most of it is lost on him.

“Whoah, whoah, hang on,” Jongdae says. “Um, what’s it—wait a second.” He says the last bit in Mandarin, and Zitao stops talking and looks at Jongdae expectantly. Jongdae flubs around a bit for something to say, but thankfully, Yixing chooses that exact time to finish his stage. Jongdae seizes the opportunity.

“Lay,” he calls, using, as Joonmyun advised them to, Yixing’s stage name. “Can you come over here a second?”

“Is this your way of asking me for a threesome?” Yixing asks, ambling over and pulling bills out of his clothes as he goes. He’s favoring his right side a little, where he’d pulled a muscle before, and when he’s close enough, Jongdae reaches up from Zitao’s lap to grab his arm, a silent question. Yixing pushes his damp hair out of his eyes and flashes Jongdae his dimpled smile. _All good_.

“Not exactly,” Jongdae says. “This is Zitao.” He gestures to Zitao, who looks a little wary at the presence of another person.

Yixing raises his eyebrows. “Is he Chinese?” He asks, then directs the question again to Zitao, and Zitao nods. Jongdae notes it’s a little less exuberant than when Jongdae had asked. He really doesn’t have a reason to feel as smug as he does.

“Can you ask him to tell you what he told me?” Jongdae asks. He glances over at Zitao and is surprised to find Zitao looking back at him with a measured gaze. He offers Zitao a smile, and Zitao smiles back; it transforms his face, shifting it from deadly assassin to perfectly approachable. It’s a startling change.

Yixing obeys. Zitao responds in kind, and Jongdae is left in the middle, lost in the sea of Mandarin. All the while, Zitao’s hands have stayed safely by his sides, as is the policy of Exology, but Jongdae, bored, starts picking at them. His fingers are long and slender, his hands as big as Jongdae remembers. They’re good hands.

“Zitao recently moved here from Qingdao,” Yixing translates, drawing Jongdae’s attention away from Zitao’s hands. Jongdae looks up sheepishly, only to find Yixing’s amused look fixed on him. Shit. Jongdae doesn’t know how big Yixing’s mouth is. “He said one of his friends brought him here a few weeks ago, and I guess he saw you? And he heard your name, so he thought you were Chinese. Wanted to talk to you. Get to know you.” Yixing hesitates, like he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t continue.

“Oh.” The temperature in the club just definitely rose. It’s definitely that which is responsible for the tiny bit of heat crawling slowly up Jongdae’s neck and not at all the idea that Zitao had come back for _him_.

Yixing says something again to Zitao, and this time Jongdae catches his name thrown somewhere in the mix. He’s about to ask Yixing what exactly he’d said when Zitao shifts behind him.

“Jongdae.” Jongdae hadn’t realized Zitao hasn’t let go of his hand since Jongdae picked it up. Jongdae’s name comes out heavy and slow on Zitao’s tongue, but it makes a pleasant chill race down his spine regardless.

Jongdae hastily drops Zitao’s hand and ignores the way his stomach flip flops at Zitao’s resulting frown. “How do you say, ‘I’m sorry, I’m not actually Chinese. Also, are you still paying me that bonus, even though all we’ve done is hold hands’?”

Yixing snorts, but translates. Zitao says something back—Jongdae really should have paid more attention in school—and then Yixing really does laugh outright, his eyes curving into crescents. He pats Jongdae on the shoulder and says, “He says it’s alright, he figured it out when all you used was Korean. Also, he says that he doesn’t really mind holding your hand, and that he’d like to do it more often.”

Jongdae’s heart leaps up, then he tamps it back down. Squinting suspiciously at Yixing, Jongdae says slowly, “That sounds a lot longer than what he said.”

“I may have paraphrased,” Yixing says. “Good luck.” With a final cheery wave and a wink in their general direction, Yixing disappears back onto the floor. Jongdae watches him go and resolves not to trust a man in gold assless chaps. Or at least be wary of what he translates.

There’s a feather-light touch at the crook of Jongdae’s elbow, and Jongdae nearly jumps out of his skin. It’s Zitao, obviously, who snatches back his hand like he’s been burned. That makes two of them.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jongdae apologizes. “You startled me.” There’s something slightly awkward about the air now, and Jongdae feels a little cold, a little exposed, and a lot gaudy in his tiny black briefs and bowtie.

“Sorry,” Zitao carefully repeats. “Sorry.” He offers Jongdae a smile though, a tiny tentative one, and Jongdae offers one back. He makes sure it looks more genuine than his standard, business ones, and Zitao seems to relax a little. 

“Sorry,” he offers again.

“Why are you apologizing?” Jongdae asks, laughing a little. “ _I’m_ sorry. You didn’t get your Chinese prince. Just me.”

Zitao peers at him. “That’s okay,” he says, and Jongdae doesn’t know if the response just good timing, but it sounds genuine at least. Maybe Zitao understands more than he’s letting on, in which case— awkward. “Your, um—” Zitao gestures to Jongdae’s mouth— “I like it. Cute.”

It’s terrible and cheesy and honestly Baekhyun would never let him live this down, but Jongdae is inexplicably charmed by Zitao, and that makes him bold. Bolder than usual.

“I’ll finish you here,” Jongdae says, letting the double entendre settle between them. It’s sort of a pity that Zitao can’t really grasp the subtleties of the language yet, but Jongdae has no doubt he’ll get there eventually. “But if you want to see more of what my mouth can do…” 

Jongdae snags the pen used to order drinks and holds out his hand. Zitao is a quick study and obligingly extends his, and Jongdae quickly scribbles down his number on the back of Zitao’s nice hand. Jongdae’s looking forward to becoming very acquainted with them.

“There,” Jongdae says, satisified, then turns his attention back to Zitao, flicking on his professional switch. It helps that Zitao looks a little dazed and so very _cute_. Jongdae wants to know what it’s like to see it in broad daylight. Maybe over a cup of coffee. It’s that thought that makes it all the easier for Jongdae to arrange himself so he’s properly straddling Zitao’s lap and say, “Now, for that dance of yours…”

 

  


Jongdae finishes his shift at three in the morning and trudges back to his apartment half-asleep. Zitao’s already long gone, but when Jongdae fishes out his cellphone from the depths of his backpack, he finds a text waiting for him from an unknown number.

_Coffee?_

Jongdae beams.

 

  


The next morning, loud voices wake Jongdae unpleasantly from his very pleasant dream. Still half-dozing, Jongdae storms out of his room and into the hallway.

The boy standing there is probably half a foot taller than Jongdae, but Jongdae has the rage of a three hour sleep behind him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Jongdae snaps, squinting at the blurry image of the boy. He’d forgotten his glasses. There’s something familiar about him. There are moving boxes pressed up against the hallway wall, next to Jongdae’s neighbor’s door. The one on its side is presumably the one that had started the ruckus. “It’s too fucking early for this shit.”

“You’re telling me, gramps,” the boy says. He has a lisp, and he sounds very young. Jongdae’s really not in the mood to laugh at the parallel between himself and the old man that used to live on Jongdae’s street growing up as a kid. He’s definitely not yelling for kids to get off his fucking lawn. “It’s my friend, sorry. He just moved in, and he’s really into, like. Getting up early. And shit.”

There’s really something similar about the kid, but Jongdae can’t place it until he spots the very familiar leopard print. Jongdae’s not sure what the odds are of two people in the same city— even one as big as Seoul— having the same god-awful leopard jacket.

“Hey, where’d you get that—”

“Sehun, my jacket—”

Jongdae would definitely know that voice anywhere, and even without his glasses, Zitao stands out enough. Jongdae’s really glad he can’t see his face very clearly, though.

“My friend,” the boy—Sehun—says, oblivious. “Zitao, this is your neighbor—uh. What was your name?”

Jongdae stares at Zitao for a beat too long before catching himself. “Jongdae,” he says. “Kim Jongdae.”

“Yeah,” Sehun says helpfully. “This is Zitao. He just moved from China. Doesn’t speak Korean very well, but he can understand a bit more than that. Please take care of him while he’s here.” Sehun seems like he realizes it sounds like he cares, and he amends, “Don’t let him die, at least.”

Jongdae squints, rubs his eyes. He’s not sure, but he thinks Zitao might be smiling. “Please take care of me,” Zitao says formally, bowing ninety degrees, and Jongdae snorts. Maybe Zitao’s already got a pretty good grasp on the subtleties of the language.

“Likewise,” Jongdae says. He has an idea of how Zitao can start.


End file.
